


You Make Me Wanna

by shinkonokokoro



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Glamlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:54:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinkonokokoro/pseuds/shinkonokokoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Street Side Dangerous is playing at a little pub and Harry drags John along to see their performance. He doesn't want to go, but he said he would, and ends up being awed by the band's performance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Make Me Wanna...

**Author's Note:**

> I was really inspired by this video:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umswpiT6mGY&feature=player_embedded
> 
> The guy in the background there in the crowd reminded me of a John roll while Sherlock would be up there on stage, singing his little heart on, loving the thrill of performance and the tease of deception of it. So this was born. The music's what I imagine the songs Sherlock would play would sound like.
> 
> There are a few youtube links in here; sorry for the kind of clumsy formatting, but they're songs that I imagine Sherlock would play for this 'verse.

John thought he might have moved during the show, but when the music stopped, it felt like air came into his body once more and his limbs unlocked. He quickly downed the last of his water and whoever's cup was sitting next to his as well.

The musicians up on stage waved, the slender lead singer pulling himself upright and giving the crowd a lascivious grin and outrageous wink. Then he sauntered off the stage, black curls plastered to his head.  
John screamed along with the audience for an encore, arms thrown forward, reaching, reaching as if he could almost touch the music. The rest of the band was still on stage, so they _were_ getting an encore. He sucked in air and waited, not letting it out until the singer strode back on stage. His chest still glistened with sweat and he didn't stop to wonder at the urge to lick it off, burying his nose into the man's navel. A quick glance at Harry made him scowl. She was grinning like a cheshire cat.

“Glad you came?”

“I still can't believe you dragged me here!” But his eyes returned to the stage where the lead was bending over the guitarist's head, arse accentuated in the practically-painted-on-leathers. When he straightened, he had an electric violin and returned to the microphone, leaning into it like a lover.

“Thank you all for coming. Since you all begged yourself hoarse for an encore, I've decided to do something special for you.” The words soaked through the audience, sensuous and teasing while the man's lips bowed upwards and he lifted the violin under his chin.

“God, he looks and sounds like sex,” John murmured, fixated on the dips above his collar bones and the cant of his head that accentuated his cheekbones. Which looked to be highlighted with gold. He looked like a pale god, the black leather accented against his pale skin and dark eye-liner making the already pale blue eyes seem feverish and what had to be white powder on his face making him seem otherworldly under the coloured lights.

Then he inhaled and the bow touched the strings.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fiQyQti_k14

John grabbed Harry's shoulder.

“I know, right? I'm so glad he's doing this for this show—he rarely does it. This is real treat, Johnny!”

John exhaled. Managed a nod, watching the man sway and weave with the music, eyes closing in concentration, opening once to sweep the crowd, lips curving up on one side in a smug smile. “Jesus...”

Then it ended and he bowed to thunderous applause and feet-stomping. “What's that? You want another?”  
There was an overwhelming chorus of 'yes!' 'hell yeah!' and 'fuck yeahs,' so the man chuckled into the mic and then bent over the instrument once more and forced out the most beautiful music that John had ever heard leaving him breathless when the man finally walked off the stage.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUO6kYLb6As

The crowd immediately cheered and then began to disperse. John found himself a perch on a stool and waited. He had to meet this man.

“Johnny, you ready to go?” Harry sauntered up, her hand cupping his shoulder.

“No. No, I want to meet him.”

“No one's ever met him.”

“What's his name? I don't...” John said, shaking his head, his head feeling all fuzzy and bewildered.

“He goes by Sherry. No one knows his real name.” Harry eyed him and then laughed. “Got a crush?”

“He's just... He's _amazing_! He's one of those people... I dunno. I just have to meet him, Harry. Give me a couple of minutes. Surely you found someone to flirt with.”

She snorted but left him alone. Just him then. He pressed his hands to his knees and licked his lips, watching the back door, one of the band members coming out with his guitar.

“Um,... 'scuse me. Is... Is Sherry still here? Will he be out soon?”

The man eyed him and then chuckled. “Right, mate. He's still here. He won't talk to you. You're welcome to wait. See if he will. Good luck with that.” Then walked on.

John frowned and returned his focus to the door, other people coming and going, carrying things, roadies. A man slouched by, angular face making John look again, but the man had a small frown on his lips and an demeanour that clearly said, 'leave me the hell alone.'

When the man hunched back through, John grabbed his arm, not quite knowing why he was, but when the man paused, eyebrows flying up like he was astonished anyone dared touch him through the walls he thought he'd built, John knew.

“You're him.”

“What?”

“You're him. You're the... the—”

“Shut up,” the other snapped.

“You _,” John breathed, sliding off his stool to get close. “Jesus. You look so different. The make up...”_

“I don't know _what_ you're talking about. Let me go.”

“Listen, it's alright. I'm not a crazy stalker or anything—I just heard you for the first time tonight. And I just wanted to say... My God. You are _amazing_. Everything... Sorry, this sounds... I...” He ducked his head, flushing as he stared at their feet. “You're really amazing. I just wanted you to know that. Your stage presence. And your violin. I've never heard anything more beautiful. I never...shit. I never do this. So... I just wanted you to know.” He offered a sheepish smile and dropped his hand, risking to look at the man's face again. “So... thanks. For the experience.”

The man blinked at him, pale eyes a little wide and roving over John's face. “Oh. Right. Well. You're welcome.” Then they darted towards the door and back. “I have to go.”

“Right. I'll.... I'll probably come to your next show. Your music... You should do the violin thing. My sister said you don't do it often. But you're amazing. That's real talent. Anyway. Sorry to hold you up. Take care.”

The man took a few steps away, tugging at the scarf he'd pulled round his neck, then stopped and turned back towards John. “Well. I never do this... But I'm glad you enjoyed the show. If I tell you my name it won't end up all over the internet would it?” he asked wryly.

“No!” John almost shouted, repeating the word more calmly. “No. I promise. And I keep my promises.”

His eyes narrowed but he smiled. “Yes. Yes I can see that.”

“What?”

“You weren't going to come. Your sister made you, yes?”

“Yes, but how...did you know that?”

He smiled, something more real. “You _really_ don't blend in here.”

“Right. Well. I had no idea what I was coming to... My name is John, by the way.”

“Sherlock. Holmes.”

“Oh. That's...unique. John Watson. It was a pleasure.”

“Mm. Yes. That. Good evening, John Watson. I'm sure I'll see you at my next show then.”

“Yes.” John smiled. “I'll be there.” And he would. He would make every. Single. One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Glamlock-inspired art! :)
> 
>   
> And  
> 


	2. ...Devour Your Air...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John goes to his second Street Side Dangerous concert. He gets more for his money.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part is picking songs. Sherlock would have a deep voice, and looking through my own music preferences and my iPod I appear to like tenors. And male artists with a vocal ranges and timbres that don’t match.  
> And all the artists I look up, I don’t like the feel for the music. So I’m afraid my choices end up being more ‘rock’ than ‘glam rock’ for my fic… :( I'm trying.

It wasn't dressing up, it was fitting in, John told himself, no matter how good the tight shirt and snug trousers made him look. He did pause in front of Harry's cosmetics before finally curling a lip and setting her eyeliner back down. No. Too much. Instead, he tromped (quietly) back downstairs and pulled on his combat boots. For once, he was a little grateful for Harry's drunken snores from the sofa in front of the telly as he snuck by.  


He got to the pub early, grabbing himself a beer and then finding a stool. The band was setting up quietly, no sign of Sherlock. He shifted on the seat, craning his head to see if the man was in sight. Alas.  


The venue filled quickly, people occupying every empty seat and corner, jostling and bumping around like so many excited molecules. The lights finally dimmed and the band came out to wild cheers. They were, John had learned, wildly popular underground with no particular interest in signing with a label. They could do whatever they wanted that way and self-produced their own CDs. John had an extra forty pounds in his wallet, just for the occasion.  


The music swelled and Sherlock's voice overtook his awareness of time and everything else, his hands still on his knees and beer forgotten on the table.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWbpT9hNAYQac

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yUR0yKPQdgo

The band didn't even get to put their instruments down before the audience clamoured for an encore. Sherlock grinned, the effect being a little creepy with his pale face highlighted with silver dust this time that made his eyes seem otherworldly, lips almost a perfect red heart. His hair was curled in tightly, multi-coloured extensions trailing down to frame his neck, dusting his shoulders. Which were clad in rhinestone-studded fishnet, tapering into leather trousers so tight John didn't feel it safe to look. They did have fringe running down the sides of the legs however. He'd noticed that during Sherlock's prancing. That and the jangling silver chains around his neck.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yDLdJG0BukM

The band started up some crooning melody that quickly escalated into something fast that made John's heart flutter. They finished with Sherlock cartwheeling off stage. The crowd went wild, John clapping so hard his hands stung. Then came the sound of a violin off-stage and Sherlock glided back on, the lights glinting off the leather glove on his right hand holding the bow. He looked up through his lashes sending John's heart into overtime. “This is for a friend of mine,” he whispered into the mic.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSFPQDEkc-k&feature=related

“Jesus...” John gasped under his breath. Thin hips rocking to a beat underlined by drums, Sherlock was undeniable. John found himself leaning towards the stage, almost out of his stool. The audience seemed just as captivated because when the last strains died away, they were silent. Sherlock winked and left the stage.  


Waiting until the place was empty again, John sipped his beer, belatedly remembering the money in his pocket. “Um...” He said towards the first roadie. “D'you have any CDs left?”  


The girl pursed her lips. “Shoulda done that earlier, mate. I dunno. I'll ask th—”  


“Sher—” John cut himself off quickly. “Heeey...”  


The girl turned. “I'll let you talk to him.”  


Sherlock swaggered up to them, a dark coat around his shoulders, all other signs of him being the magnificent creature from the stage gone save for a little eyeliner. “John.”  


“You remembered.” He smiled.  


An arched brow and a half smirk, he said, “Yes, of course.”  


“You played—that was...” he flushed. “Beautiful.”  


“Pedestrian,” the other man replied.  


“Maybe, but you love it,” John said, feeling bold.  


“Hm. Perhaps I do. You wanted CDs?”  


“Yes.”  


Sherlock looked him up and down. “You've more than enough. Come with me.”  


More curious than he'd like to admit, John followed obediently towards the back room of the pub. He got a surprised look from the drummer before she sent a searching look at Sherlock. The other members of the band didn't spare a glance at him or Sherlock, packing their things. He was pulled out the back door into the alley. “What are we doing out here?”  


Sherlock dropped his wrist, arching a brow at him. “You were quite the distraction.”  


“I'm sorry?”  


“I don't think you are. But no matter. I'm prepared to forgive you and give you two CDs for free. If you kiss me.”  


He felt his jaw drop. “What?!”  


“Unless I've got the wrong idea entirely. I rarely do, though, so I'm fairly certain you've been fascinated, if not physically attracted to me, from the first time you saw me. Though I should warn you, as you might already have deduced, that Sherlock is nothing like Sherry.” He folded his arms and looked down his nose at John. “Well...?”  


“Bloody hell.”  


“That response is neither an affirmation nor a denial.”  


John blinked at him and then laughed loudly before smothering the sound behind his hand. “You want me to kiss you that badly?”  


“You want me to want you to kiss you that badly.” His eyes glinted though as they flicked down to John's lips.  


“You'll give me two of your three CDs for free, you say?” John grinned at Sherlock's tightened expression. “And I get to kiss the lead of Street Side Dangerous? This is turning out to be a pretty interesting night...”  


“That means yes,” Sherlock said—statement though still carrying tones of uncertainty.  


John grabbed his lapels and yanked him down, their lips inexpertly mashed together. He felt Sherlock's hands clamp down on his shoulders. John tilted his head up, cupping the other man's jaw to adjust angle and then everything was the slide of John's moistened lips against Sherlock's smooth ones. The other man tilted closer, hands loosening, the only rational thought going through John's head being, 'how strange... I never do this...” But then Sherlock sighed into his mouth and John had an opening to lick the underside of Sherlock's upper lip. He backed up against the wall as more of Sherlock's weight fell on him, sucking the other man's tongue with a groan.  


With a small shove, Sherlock stepped back, panting. “Air...”  


John chuckled, the burn of rejection gone as soon as it had appeared.  


“I knew you'd be good at it...” Sherlock said.  


“What?”  


“Kissing. You. Looked like you'd be good at it. I was right.”  


“You don't need a second example? To be sure? Make sure it wasn't a fluke then?” God, who was he. Flirting like this... He needed it.  


Eyes growing wide, Sherlock licked his lips. “Yes. Definitely best to double check,” he said, voice rumbling in his chest.  


John shivered but beckoned with a crooked finger. He never did things like this, but when Sherlock shuddered and fell forward again, it was all worth it. Their mouths fit together perfectly this time, John licking Sherlock's lips open. He inhaled the air from Sherlock's lungs, catching him as he moaned and wobbled. Pulling back a little, he nipped at Sherlock's lip, then sucking it into his mouth. Sherlock gasped. John pressed kisses to the corners of his mouth before leaving a closed-mouth kiss on his cupid's bow.  


“Not a fluke...” Sherlock leaned over John, hands braced against the wall. “Screw this, you can have all three CDs if you come to the next show and do this again.”  


Huffing softly, John nodded. He was going to come regardless. “Hell yes.”  


“Oh good. Come on. I'll get you the CDs. I have to pack up.” He grinned, looking mad and perfect and thoroughly debauched, lips kiss-bruised and poutier.  


“You're lovely,” John said, feeling dazed. Then flushed and allowed Sherlock to pull him back inside without smoothing his hair.  


Despite not really looking a them, John could feel the gaze of Sherlock's bandmates as Sherlock rushed to a cardboard box. He rustled through and made a small satisfied noise of success before offering the CDs up to John.  


“I expect to see you next show.”  


“I'll be there,” John said a little breathlessly as he pressed the gifts to his chest.  


“Picked up a new friend, Sherry?” A voice teased as John left the room.  


“Oh yes,” Sherlock purred in response. “Though it's hardly any of your business.”

~ ~ ~ ~

Sneaking into the flat, John found himself cornered by Harry.  


“Where you been, Johnny?”  


“The pub,” he said smugly. “And look what I got!” He thrust the three CDs forwards.  


“You went back?” Harry grabbed the CDs. “Wow.”  


“They're mine. You can burn them later, but you're not taking them like everything else of mine you want.”  


“Fine, fine, you lucky wanke—on my God! He signed one!”  


“What?!” Snatching them back, he turned them over, finding nothing. “Where?”  


Harry laughed. “So gullible.”  


“Arse...” he muttered, a little stung with disappointment. Until he remembered the kiss. “It's fine,” he said breezily and headed up to his room to check the date of the next concert.


	3. ...Eat You Up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics are from Bowie's 'Velvet Goldmine.'

The thrift store had been kind to John's wallet and figure. Though the clothes stayed hidden in the back of his closet until the next concert.

John pulled on snug trousers and the snug t-shirt with a little more glitter on it than he was comfortable with. This time he did nick Harry's eye-liner. Even if he had to wipe it off once before it looked right. He didn't look bad. Just accentuated his eyes. Weird. He grinned.

Early at the pub again, he got his beer and chose a table close to the stage. The band set-up was the same, drummer—named Sally—moving her drums the way she wanted. Greg was on keys, Allen on guitar, Sotia on bass and back-up guitar when they needed her. The group meshed well at least. On stage. But Sherry could apparently be a bit of a diva (and really, walking around like a Bedazzler advert was such an obvious clue-in of _that_ ), and John had seen the youtube video of them arguing off stage that a nosy fan managed to catchy. There were videos of the performance that same night, however, and the show was spectacular.

He grinned just _thinking_ about tonight. The music. Sherlock on stage. Sherlock off stage. _Kissing_ Sherlock. He quickly stopped that train of thought before it left him in a state he didn't want public eyes to see.

Before long, the place was full and the band was on stage. Sherlock immediately spotted him, smirked, and then said some nonsense into the mic about 'welcome to the show' and 'let the spectacle begin.' The cheers were muted in John's mind as he took in Sherlock's tight leathers tucked into knee-high boots with heels on them—as if he needed to be taller, blast him. He had some sort of slashed shirt on that was entirely ineffective at covering skin—and seemed to be sporting a rainbow of sequins. His face was slashed with navy blue from one eye to the opposite silvered cheek, accentuating the flashes of studs in his ears. His hair had been curled up on end wildly, feathers flying out from it. All in all, he looked rather fey and otherworldly. The studded gloves only helped the image.

John sighed into the music and caught Sherlock's eye once again. Smirking and feeling wanton, he let his legs fall open. And was rewarded by Sherlock's brows jumping. And a body roll against the mic stand. John sucked in air, but not to be outdone by this sudden game of who-can-out-seduce-who, he rucked up the hem of his shirt so a strip of his belly was showing.

Sherlock, blessed Sherlock, slid his hand from his bare throat down to his crotch. Never missing a beat of the song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OoZ_L1lEcTc

John cupped his own crotch in return. But not before checking that no one was looking. They were naturally all enraptured by Sherlock.

Sherlock arched backwards into a controlled fall to the stage, taking the mic with him of course, crooning into it obscenely.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ZqIDJfHxnE

John waited until Sherlock was looking and on his feet again to hold his gaze and mouth the lyrics at him, Street-Side Dangerous being the only thing he'd listened to on his mp3 player for the week and a half in between shows. This one was one Sherlock had written. Sherlock's eyes went wide as John matched him word for word. On beat.

- _I had to ravish your capsule, suck you dry_ -

Sherlock skipped his violin piece at the end, sending a roady out to fetch him from the audience before the place had even half-way cleared. He was immediately dragged by a shoddily de-make-upped Sherlock back stage in a corner. “You are never allowed to do that to me again,” he demanded, claiming John's mouth immediately under the cover of darkness. “Suck me off.”

John pulled back. “I've never—” Just fumbling in the dark. With none of this situation's passion.

Sherlock grinned, though maybe it was more of a grimace, his lips stretched tight over teeth. “Watch and learn then.” Sherlock sinking to his knees was sinful.

John threw his hands up over his face as he went from mildly interested to almost fully hard in a breath.

“Watch,” Sherlock ordered as he undid John's belt and zip.

Scratch that. He swallowed, meeting Sherlock's stormy blues. Fully hard.

Sherlock pulled him from his pants, dropping gaze once to see what he was dealing with. “Good,” he breathed over the tip of John's cock, tongue flicking out to just taste. And earn a gusty release of air from John. “Learn.” John watched as the other man's lips closed around the head of his cock, vaguely registering _heat_ and _wet_. No one had ever done this for him before. Sherlock sucked him into his mouth leaving John stock-still and holding in air like it was a precious commodity. His hands pinning his hips back against the wall, Sherlock didn't shift his gaze as he bobbed along the length of John's prick, fingers splaying. Rubbing gently at John's skin.

“Jesus...” he puffed out, his hips twitching.

Sherlock hummed and his lips tightened into what would have been a smile had his mouth not been full. He shifted on his knees and pulled back so he was sucking on only the head, tongue teasing along the underside.

Oh God, that little whine must have been him.

Sherlock's eyes flashed as he pushed in harder and John suddenly found his hands in Sherlock's hair, pushing back against the wall just to stay upright. “Sherlock! Oh God. You are!” And felt his cock nudge the back of the other man's throat. Eyelids fluttering shut as his eyes rolled back for just a second and then he was staring up at John and swallowing hard.

Then Sherlock backed off with a minute scrape of teeth and he clenched his hand harder in Sherlock's hair, the other pressing down on a shameless full-bodied moan. Sherlock sucked the head of his prick again, moaning over the flesh, tongue circling and then teasing the slit.

“O-oh...! O-oh...! I'm... _Jesus_ don't stop!” he gasped between fingers, hips hitching. “F- _fuck_!”

Sherlock hummed in agreement, taking him fully again, one hand leaving John's hips, trailing down to cup his balls and give them a squeeze.

“Al...most...” John panted, straining as he threw his head back against the wall. Sherlock's fingers, the rough ones— _oh God from playing his violin_ —slid back behind his bollocks and—oh!

The world whited out and he vaguely heard himself crying out. And then slid down the wall, mumbling gibberish as Sherlock eased him, grinning madly with reddened lips, debauched. “Wow...” he said when he could form his lips around the word.

“Did you learn?” Sherlock crooned, looking at him through his lashes.

John groaned again.

“Take care of me,” Sherlock ordered, voice rough from deep-throating John.

“I'm not—”

“I don't _care_ if you're not very good, if you've not done it before, _fuck_ , John, I _need_ it.” Sherlock raked his hands down John's chest, inhaling the air from John's lips.

Groaning, John pushed Sherlock back and yanked his trousers and pants down. He licked his lips and then, tentative, the head of Sherlock's cock, twitching slightly at the bitterness, continuing anyway because of Sherlock's moan. Licked a stripe from base to tip. “Okay...?”

“Fuck, John. More. Come on. Swallow me.” He tilted his hips up obligingly, little needy thrusts.

He bit his lip and then looked up at Sherlock's flushed cheeks, hastily taking as much as he could, sucking a bit. And was rewarded with soft gasps. Sucking more earnestly, John bent to it, pushing his tongue up against the bottom of Sherlock's cock.

“Yessss, John! Come on! That's it..!” He was thrusting his hips up now, little snaps that took away John's air. “Come on! Suck harder, John...” he whined, a hand suddenly buried harshly in his hair.

John gasped, almost choking, inhaling through his nose. He groaned around Sherlock's length, making the man quiver, soft keening noises straining from the back of his throat.

“I... _hng_! Jo-ohn...!” And then arched hard as he spent into John's mouth.

He pulled off, coughing, spat on the floor and shuddered. Looked at Sherlock whose eyelids were still fluttering and lips still spread in a silly sated smile. “Good?”

“God yes.” Sherlock huffed. “That was... Yes. Yes.”

John laughed. “Great. Well now I'm... nasty. And need a shower.” He flicked his eyes at Sherlock.

“Is that a suggestion?”

“My sister might be at home. Yours?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Not tonight. Next time.” He gathered himself and pulled off his bedazzled shirt, wiping himself off and then tossing it to John.”

“Gross!”

"Something to remember me by." Sherlock grinned. “Keep it. Next time. I like the eye-liner.” He blew him a kiss and then disappeared back into the bar leaving John to sigh, making a mental note to practise with pickles if he wasn't too embarrassed, and get his own eye-liner.


	4. ...Keep You Close...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! A wild plot appears!?
> 
> So apparently, Jewel's song "Yes U Can" does not exist on youtube... So that link leads to my tumblr.
> 
> The other links: New York Dolls is actually kind of what I imagine Sherlock sounding like. It's really hard to find glamrock songs that have a deep voice. Most of them are tenors or even contraltos... :)

 The blog online said that the show started at 8.

And they were having a guest star.

And Sherlock sent him a text (how did Sherlock get his number?) saying to get there at 7:30.

So John set about getting himself ready, pulling another tight t-shirt out of the thrift store back and then shook his head and grinned to himself. Rifling around beneath his bed, he pulled the shirt Sherlock had worn last time out (laundered, of course) and slipped it on over a white sleeveless. Pausing in front of a mirror in the loo he almost laughed at how he caught the light. He looked a little bit ridiculous, the slashed and sequinned material pulled snug across his broader middle and chest, compared to Sherlock's.

He returned to his room for the snug trousers, tucked his wallet (stocked appropriately in hopefulness) in the back pocket and then dug the eye-liner out of the bottom of his junk drawer. He'd gotten much better and did it nicely in one go, smudging it along the bottom of his eye, knowing it looked good.

It was warm enough that he didn't need a jacket, so he stuffed his feet into his trainers and made it down to the pub in plenty of time. 7:18. He loitered near the doorway, shifting from one foot to the next, startled when a voice said by his ear, “Perfect” and then swept him along towards the back area where the band usually hung out.

“Wha— _oh_!”

“Glad you could make it, John,” Sherlock hummed, eyes focused ahead. He wasn't dressed for stage yet, only in his long coat. “Since your little...display...last time, I figured that you might as well take the edge off beforehand.” Those brilliant eyes flicked his way. “And then perhaps after—”

“Harry's out with friends. She won't be coming home tonight,” John blurted quietly.

“Perfect,” Sherlock purred with a curl of his lips. He pushed open the door and swept in, pulling John after him. “Everyone out.”

“But—”

“ _Out_ , Sally.”

She snarled but grabbed her sticks and stomped out. Greg sighed and followed her, the other two somewhere else.

Sherlock finally looked, really looked, at John, lips curling up more as he saw what he wore. “You are a brazen thing.”

“You like it?” John tugged at the shirt casually. “I think you wear it better.”

“It's because I have the build of a model. I wear most things better,” Sherlock said, eyes still roving. “However, I think, on you, it is perfect...”

“That's kind of you,” John said, smiling easily. He was feeling brazen. The way Sherlock was staring at him... he felt a little powerful. “So...did you want me to take the edge off?”

Sherlock's eyes quickly rose to his face, assessing, reading. Then he chuckled. “Show me.”

John grinned quickly and turned them, pushing Sherlock back against the wall before sinking to his knees. The pickles had been horribly embarrassing, but he'd learned how much he could take and while the pickles didn't give him a response, they certainly helped him to learn to manage something in his mouth. Well, that and videos online. He'd certainly taken a lot of cold showers.

Looking up, Sherlock's tongue flicked across his lips. “Go on,” he said eagerly.

John gave him a smirk and then pulled his zip down with his teeth. Air whistled in through Sherlock's teeth as his eyes widened. John reached his hands up to Sherlock's chest, dragging them down until they caught on the hem of his trousers and dipped his fingers into his pants.

“John,” Sherlock breathed.

So John did the same, hot air over his prick, teasing.

“I've awakened a monster...” he said faintly.

He nuzzled a little bit, mouthing as Sherlock grew harder, and waited until Sherlock's hips twitched until he pulled his pants down out of the way. Licking the tip of his cock, John circled it with his tongue before mouthing it gently, but not taking him into his mouth yet. He pressed Sherlock's hips against the wall with a murmured, “Hold still, luv,” and then framed the base of his prick with his fingers, mouthing up and down his length, quite proud of himself for the way Sherlock gasped and twitched.

He groaned aloud when John finally took him into his mouth, breathing in through his nose. Tongue pressed up against the bottom, just behind the head of his cock, John sucked, wincing as there were suddenly hands in his hair, _fisted_ in his hair.

“Jesus bloody buggering _fuck_ , John Watson,” Sherlock breathed.

John pulled off and risked a glance up. “And here I thought I had a dirty mouth.”

“Get your mouth back on me!” Sherlock ordered. “What have you practised on?”

John laughed. “Like I'm telling.”

“Not anyone else...?” Sherlock asked, serious.

“No! I—”

“Not now. _Jesus_ , not now. We'll talk later about what this is. Fuck, just finish me off!” Sherlock hissed.

Bending his head, John took him back into his mouth and flicked his tongue over Sherlock's slit, humming until he heard Sherlock keen softly. Another sharp tug of his hair and an aborted thrust, and Sherlock was coming into his mouth. Sherlock cursed wild and low, fumbling above him before dropping a couple tissues down towards John. When the other man sagged back against the wall, John pulled off and spat into the rubbish bin, face flaming. “Forgot about that part,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the tissues and dripping water into his mouth from the bottle Sherlock gave him.

“Well that was much better than I anticipated,” Sherlock drawled, tucking himself back into his pants.

John laughed. “Thank you?”

“Here, let me finish you.” Sherlock nodded towards John's crotch. “Come on. Don't be embarrassed _now_. After _that_ performance, you've really nothing to be ashamed of, John. Get over here.” He held out a hand.

John let himself be pulled in, frowning slightly as he was turned, back to Sherlock's chest.

“Lean into me,” Sherlock crooned next to his ear, arms curling around his chest and then sliding down to thumb open the button. He slid his hand into John's pants, wrapping his calloused fingers around his prick. “Grab some of the tissues, John.”

Groaning as that hand slid up and down once and then left, John flailed a hand out for the box and grabbed a few.

“Lick my hand.”

“Oh Jesus...” John breathed before laving his tongue across Sherlock's palm and up along his fingers. He let his head fall back on Sherlock's shoulder as the hand was now _slick_ and _hot_ along his length. He bit his lip, and it wasn't long before his breath was accompanied with small groans.

“Come, John. Come on...” Sherlock rumbled.

“Fff....uck...!” John whined as he bit his own hand and held the other one, full of tissues, over the end of his prick as he spasmed. “Shit fuck...!” He gasped, leaning heavily into Sherlock.

“You are a delight...” Sherlock petted him lightly as he gathered his breath. “Help me dress?”

Laughing breathlessly, John cleaned himself off with another tissue and then binned it before tucking himself back in and doing up his trousers.

“Your arse is delectable in those,” Sherlock said, stripping his own off and tossing them on the sofa before going over to a suitcase. “Green leather or purple denim?”

“Uh...”

“It's alright. Your mind is still slow.” Sherlock grinned at him.

“Watch it. Green leather.”

“As you say. Top?”

“What's that?”

“Which?” Sherlock looked back down into his suitcase.

“The silver.”

“That's a sash.”

“Wear it.”

“With?”

“Is that black lace?”

Sherlock grinned at him. “Yes.”

“Wear it.” John looked away as Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt. “I'm going to go grab a pint.”

“You may come back here. Don't care to watch me change?”

“I want to watch you do your make up and hair.” He was back in about five minutes, and Sherlock already had the bright lights on in front of the large mirror and was smoothing foundation over his face. “You really don't need that stuff.”

“Keeps my complexion even in front of the stage lights.”

John wandered closer and perched himself on the arm of the sofa to watch as Sherlock did the rest of his make up—violet streaks across his cheeks and glittered eyeshadow and lipstick. He looped giant silver hoops through his ears and then teased his hair up, spraying the tips a neon pink. And thus, Sherry appeared.

“Alright, John. Show's going to start soon. Go find your seat. I'll see you after the show,” Sherlock said, standing.

“That's amazing, you know...?” John shook his head but followed suit.

“Thank you. Go on.” Sherlock gave him a light smack on the arse that startled him into movement.

He waved and then found himself a seat in the front with his beer, lounging at the small table. By the time the lights dimmed, the place was full as usual and a young woman came on stage with a brilliant blue guitar. She smiled to the crowd. “Hullo! I'm Molly! I'll be kickin' us off tonight. Hope you have a fun time, and thanks for coming!” She backed away from the mic and began her intro.

http://shinkonokokoro.tumblr.com/post/14947347169/tristanspears-jewel-yes-u-can 

She wasn't bad. She did three songs and then bowed off to a smattering of applause and hollers, because, she was attractive.

However, everyone _was_ waiting for the main event. John grinned as Street Side Dangerous took the stage and the audience erupted into roars and cheers. Sherlock approached the mic, winked at the audience, kissed the mic, and then the band burst into music.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=64Kz3D2OgAE

Sherlock pranced around the stage gyrating his hips while the crowd cheered. John laughed at his antics and blew a kiss when no one was looking. He chanted the lyrics with the rest of the crowd: _Listen when I tell ya, you got no time for fix, Cus I just gotta make it, can't afford to miss, And there's one reason, I'll tellin' you this, I feel bad... And I'm lookin' for a kiss!_

Sidling up to Sotia, Sherlock leaned in towards her and crooned the next verse before dancing over towards Greg and leaning across the keys to flutter his eyelids (fake lashes? How did he miss that?) at him. As the song ended, Sherlock grabbed the mic stand and dipped it dramatically, kissing the mic again.

Then the band lead into something louder and faster.

http://youtu.be/mftC-Mdj2BU

Clapping along, John watched Sherlock sway to the beat, foot tapping in its heeled boot. When they finished the set, Sherlock left the stage. The audience immediately started into the chant of 'Encore! Encore!'

Sherlock _did_ return, carrying his electric violin. “I do have something special for you. A little bit different. New material. Thank you for being here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTpq7NLkIys

He felt flush at the memory of those fingers that were currently flying over the fingerboard had been around his cock not much earlier. But incredibly smug that those fingers had been around his cock not much earlier. He grinned the entire song and then Sherlock bowed with flourish and strut off the stage.

John ambled towards the crew door and waited until Sotia stalked out. “Hey! Um. Great show...”

She looked at him, arched a brow and then huffed a laugh. “Thanks, mate.”

“Everything alright?”

“Oh yeah. Just grand. You should come before every show. He's been a dream.”

John flushed. “Um. Thanks?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on in.”

He nodded and slipped through the door, Sherlock hopping around to get his clothes off while Greg and Sally laughed over their pints and Allen lounged on the couch with some girl John had seen before who must be his girlfriend.

“John!”

“Hey. Great show, as usual.”

“Thanks!” Sally said with a grin. They chatted while Sherlock got into plain-clothes and got behind him, gripping his elbow.

“Come on, John.”

Greg's brows jumped up. “Leaving together?” He grinned.

“Yes,” Sherlock said stiffly, the flashy stage persona completely gone. And then he guided John out. “Where do you live?”

“Not far. I walked.” He tugged Sherlock's arm down. “We don't need a taxi. Your show was really great.”

“So you said.”

“Well. Praise where it's deserved.” John grinned.

Sherlock sighed. “Yes yes. And we can talk about it now, if you like.”

“Talk about it? _Oh_. _It_.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he followed the lines of the pavement.

“You've been exclusive?”

“I have.”

“As have I apparently. I suppose this means that this is a relationship. Though I must warn you, relationships have never been my strong suit. Therefore this is new to me,” Sherlock said stiffly.

“Oh!” John blinked up at him. “That's fine! I thought you were... Well, never mind.” He grinned.

“Oh. Right. Yes. Okay.”

“We'll give this a shot then?”

“I would love to,” John smiled. “Well. Here's me.” He felt a little warm as Sherlock crowded him to the door while John fit his key into the lock and smiled a little shyly at Sherlock as he let him in. “Want anything to drink?”

Sherlock moved past him, eyeing everything, trailing fingers over the tops of picture frames and across furniture. “Tea would be nice.”

“Sure. How d'you like it?” John headed into the kitchen, setting the kettle on the stove.

“Black, three sugars,” Sherlock called.

By the time John returned with two mugs, Sherlock was sitting on the sofa, coat draped over the back. He smiled as he accepted the mug and gestured for John to join him. Rolling his eyes, John sank into the cushions, shifting to face Sherlock. “So.”

“This is why I do not do relationships,” Sherlock muttered into the silence, then sipped his tea. “Oh God, do not look so bereft. I said I was willing to give this a chance, did I not?”

“Right well. D'you want to go upstairs?”

A smile spread across Sherlock's lips slowly. “I would like that.”

John took another drag off his tea and then set the mug down on the table. “Come on then.” And took Sherlock upstairs, undressed him, and laid him down.

\- - - - -

John stumbled out of bed, inordinately pleased with himself as he made his way to the loo. Wondering what woke him, he started as he heard Harry's drunken clattering downstairs. “Shit.”

“Johnny! I'm hoo—ooome!” Harry laughed as something crashed. “Whoops!”

“Harry!” John hissed, hurrying down the stairs. Sherlock was still snoring in his bed. This was bad. Bad bad bad. John cursed as he stumbled on some of Harry's laundry and he caught her coming up the stairs. “Harry! Shush!”

“What's th'matter, Johnny. You got company? That's a fancy coat! Not yours, is it?” She brushed past him and staggered towards his room. “Hey-o, Johnny's compan—” Harry broke off as John tried to pull her away. “Oh God. Is this...”

Sherlock shifted on the bed.

“ _Johnny_! Oh my _God_! It's _you_!” She looked at John and then back at Sherlock. “It's _him_! You fucked him?!”

“So you're Harry,” Sherlock rumbled, stretching and pulling himself into a sitting position. “Another reason why I don't do relationships.”

“Fuck,” John muttered. “ _Harry_. Get. Out.” He grabbed Harry's arm and yanked her away, glaring.

“But it's—it's the musician!”

“Yes, I'm the musician,” Sherlock said grumpily. “Now kindly follow your brother's suggestions and get out.”

“Wow, you're an arse...” Harry stumbled and then threw a face at him and left.

“Jesus... I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. My sister... She's—”

“Don't worry about it, John. I'm hardly concerned.” Sherlock waved it away and then stood.

“Um, d'you want breakfast? We can go out.”

Sherlock hummed and pulled the sheets up around his waist. “If you like.”

John smiled. “Great. Get dressed then?”

“Of course. I suppose sleeping in is not an option...”

John chuckled and dug around in his closet for fresh clothes. “So we're okay then?”

“We're fine, John. Don't think that your family will put me off. Goodness knows that family is often times a curse more than a blessing.”

John frowned as Sherlock turned away to pull on his clothes. But then lost track of the thought as he and Sherlock spilled out into the street into the new day.


	5. ...hold you down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long. Enjoy!

 John didn't discover what Sherlock meant about family being more 'a curse than a blessing' until some weeks later.

Before that, however, there were 3 shows, and more mind-blowing hand and blow-jobs than he could properly remember. Sherlock's hands were brilliant, and John was learning how to take him apart with his hands and with his mouth. They'd still not 'gone all the way,' but that was fine. John wasn't ready for that anyway.

Saturday, however, Harry was out with her latest girl and John was lounging on the sofa, waiting for Sherlock to arrive. They'd agreed on a night in, and John was curious what that would look like, with no show before hand to amp everything up. John had on some slim-fitting jeans, and a regular t-shirt that showed off his arms nicely. He'd had on a Street Side Dangerous band t-shirt on, but then changed out of it, for fear of boosting Sherlock's ego too much.

When the bell rang, he dashed to buzz Sherlock up and then open the door to wait for him in the open space. When his boyfriend appeared on the staircase, glowering, John blinked.

“Hullo. What's wrong?”

Sherlock glowered still, lugging a knapsack, a violin case, and a carry sack full of things.

“Sherlock?” John asked when he stalked right by him. He kept going and dropped his things in John's room. “Um. You going to tell me what's—mph!” John found himself slammed into the doorframe, Sherlock's mouth cutting off his air. He got his hands up and pushed Sherlock off. “What the fuck!”

Sherlock bared his teeth and pinned John's shoulders back. “On the bed. Now.”

“No! Not until you tell me what's going on!” John grabbed Sherlock's wrists. “Tell me.”

“I'm staying here. In case that weren't obvious.”

“Yeah, I got the impression. Why? How long? What happened?”

“My brother,” Sherlock spat.

“You have a brother?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Just for a few days until the twat gets his head out of his arse.”

“Sherlock—what the hell is going on?”

“John, don't worry about it.” Sherlock whirled away and flopped on John's bed face-first, the dismissal clear.

John sighed and threw his hands up, leaving his room for the sitting room to pick up his book again. Two pages later, and he jumped when the violin started up.

 

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6VL9TFvYyKI>

 

John frowned. This wasn't... This was...classical. He bookmarked his page and leant back into the sofa to listen properly. He was properly trained then. Sherlock must have learned violin as a child and then adapted it to these wild melodies that he performed on stage. Minutes later, Sherlock drabbled off into something unrecogniseable before drifting into an interesting arrangement of music that John laughed when he recognised it.

 

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KsUAxG6c3Ws>

 

Clearing his voice, John starting singing along. “I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing, Roman Calvary choirs are singing.” The strings stilled a moment before taking up again, more quietly. John continued singing along, picking up his book again.

When the sound stopped, Sherlock called out, “John?”

“Yes?”

“You sing well.”

“That sounds like a question.” John called back, head dropped to the arm of the sofa.

“You do.” Sherlock appeared in the doorway, violin in hand. “What else do you know?”

“Well, lots of different stuff. Why?”

“You know Street Side Dangerous songs.”

He smirked. “Of course. Near all I've been listening to for the past few weeks.”

Sherlock dipped his chin. “Of course.” His fingers plucked absently at the strings. “Would you...”

John waited.

Sherlock vanished back into his room.

“Hey wait! Would I what?”

Sherlock's head poked out. “Forgive me?”

“I do.”

The relief appeared quickly on his face. “Good. That's good.”

“So what was it you wanted to ask me?”

“I wanted...” Sherlock dropped his arm so the violin hung at his thigh and locked eyes with John. “I wanted to know if you would join me.”

“....for what?”

“On stage.”

John blanched. “Wha—what!?” He squirmed until he was sitting, staring at Sherlock. “You're kidding, right?”

“No...” Sherlock tapped his calf with his bow, not meeting John's eyes. “You sing very well, John. And I think... Well. I thought it might be...fun...to do a duet. On stage.”

“In front of people?!”

His lips curved into a wry grin. “That usually is what 'on stage' means, John.”

“But I can't! I—”

“Whyever not? You have enough talent. I hear you sing in the shower. You have enough support to belt it out on stage.”

John felt his eyes go wide. “Oh God.”

“Fine! It was just an idea...”

John had to scramble to catch Sherlock in time before he vanished into John's room again. “I... I don't like being in front of people.”

“That's why you'd be wearing make-up.” Sherlock grinned fully this time.

“Oh.”

“And I'd be next to you for most of the time you're on stage. You could focus on me.”

“That's...” John licked his lips. “That's not always the best idea if you don't want me embarrassing myself.”

Sherlock blinked and then giggled. “Fine. Would you try one song?”

Pulling him over to the sofa, John sat. “Fine. I'll harmonise with you. My voice is higher anyway. Practise? Once. Just see how it goes?”

Sherlock nodded eagerly. “The song from the concert you sang at me. 'Velvet Goldmine.'”

“I know it.”

Sherlock started, eyes locked with John. John let him sing a verse and then came in, voice floating above Sherlock's, quieter, but firm. He let it growl a little to be more sensuous and match with Sherlock's. When they finished, Sherlock was leaning towards him and when their lips met, John groaned, his hand coming up to cup the back of Sherlock's head.

“Oh God...”

They sprang apart, flushed, and breathing heavily. “Harry!” John blurted.

“That was... Wow.” Harry's eyes were wide, cheeks red too. “If you're performing that...” She fanned herself. “Weird 'cause you're my brother. Hot because...” Harry shook her head and wandered past them, jacket still on, into her room.

Looking back at Sherlock, he laughed at his smirk.

“It'll sell. John. You can do this. Say you'll do it with me.”

He nodded quickly before his nerves could tell him otherwise.

 

They spent the rest of the afternoon going through Street Side Dangerous songs, Sherlock increasingly interested in John's capacity for performance and singing. John made dinner, and when they were lounging on John's bed while Harry monopolised the sitting area, John leaned up on an elbow.

“What?” Sherlock asked, without opening his eyes.

“Your brother.”

“What about him.”

“What happened?”

“We were sharing a flat. He got angry. I yelled. He kicked me out.”

John frowned. “What did you argue about?”

“He wants me to perform with the London Symphony Orchestra.”

He whistled. “Wow.”

“I find it dull.”

He snorted. “Only you, Sherlock.”

Finally opening his eyes, he looked over at John. “What does that mean?”

“It means, just that... Well anyone else would jump at the chance of being a part of the LSO.”

“Exactly,” Sherlock said with a curled lip.

John laughed. “So... Did your brother mean it when he kicked you out?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “He said if I won't perform as I was raised, then I can find some way to pay for my own lodgings. And if you knew my brother, John, you wouldn't be asking that question. He always means what he says.”

John nodded. “Well, you are welcome to stay here. Despite the fact that you've invited yourself already...”

“I knew you would say yes. I'm not an unwelcome houseguest, and you, for some reason, tolerate me more adeptly than everyone else. I won't take up much space. And I can give you rent.”

“Oh.”

“Thank you.”

“Uh. Sure. Thank _you_? ” They fell into a comfortable silence before John asked, “You going to sleep in my bed?”

“Unless you have somewhere else that you're going to put me.”

“Thanks, Sherlock. You're probably a bedsheet stealer.”

“Absolutely not.”

“We'll have to sleep close if we're both going to fit on my bed.”

Sherlock shifted to grin at John. “I was hoping so.”

“I sleep naked.”

Sherlock's eyes widened with a breathless, “Do you?”

John laughed. “Not always.”

“Can I persuade you?”

He grinned.

Sherlock flopped back down again. “I'm taking you shopping tomorrow.”

“What?! What for?”

“For your outfit. For stage. There's a show the day after tomorrow. And you've got to be made-up.”

“Do I get an alter-ego too?” he asked dryly.

Sherlock snorted. “Only when you prove that you deserve one.”

Laughing, John rolled off the bed. “I'm knackered. I'm going to have a shower and get ready for bed.”

“Why John, is that an invitation for me to join you?”

He laughed again. “In _my_ shower? No.”

 

He woke the next morning to the un-encouraging sight of Sherlock's armpit too close to his face, legs twisted around his waist, and certain knowledge of the fact that he had been unerringly correct. “I  _knew_ you were a sheet-stealer,” he muttered as he disentangled himself from Sherlock and wandered down to the loo to brush his teeth and have a morning piss. After putting on a t-shirt, he headed into the kitchen to make breakfast for himself, Sherlock, and Harry. Though he wasn't sure if she was in. He got the eggs scrambled when Sherlock came wavering through the door, hair sticking up, eyes bleary. John couldn't help but smile and walk over, reaching up to take his face in his hands and kiss Sherlock.

“Jooohn...”

“Morning.”

Sherlock sank into one of the chairs at the table and dropped his head onto his arms.

“Alright there, love?”

Sherlock grunted.

Setting a mug of tea before him, John divided the eggs (Harry was out already), and put the plates down with silverware before sitting himself. “Go on then. Eat. You're taking me shopping, remember.”

“Can we have more sleeping first? The bed got cold when you left.”

“I wouldn't know why,” John said around a mouthful of eggs. “It's not like you stole all the bedsheets or anything.”

Sherlock lifted a hand to feel around for the mug, curling his long fingers around it as he finally looked up and gave John a baleful glare. “It's not my fault your flat is freezing at night.”

John snorted. “Right. Of course. Eat up.”

“I'm not very hungry.” Catching John's glance, he hurried on, “Of course, it would be...what is it. Wasteful? To not eat...”

“Damn straight.” He encouraged Sherlock through the rest of his plate and then they dressed (with some noisy snogging now that Harry wasn't home), and went out. “Um. Sherlock. I don't think I can go in there...” John said, looking at the storefront.

“What? Come on, John. Why not?”

“Because that's...” John flushed and looked away.

“You're  _embarrassed_ ? Really, John. Come on.” Sherlock pulled him into the store and was immediately greeted by several enthusiastic shop girls. “Yes, thank you. We're here looking for my friend.”

The girls' eyes transferred to John and they all adopted some sort of scrutinising frown.

John fought the urge to cross his arms over his chest.

“No cat-suits,” one girl said, everyone immediately agreeing with her.

In minutes, however, they had bundled him into a dressing room with an armful of things to try on. Which he then paraded out to them to varying degrees of success. Finally, however, they settled on a pair of jewelled jeans, an equally-bejwelled lycra short sleeve top that seemed to cling to his biceps and chest.

“Perfect,” Sherlock purred.

John flushed. “Not too ridiculous.”

“John. This is glamrock.  _Nothing_ is too ridiculous. You look perfect. Go change. We're done here.”

Sighing, John put his street clothes back on and handed the items to Sherlock, who insisted on paying. “We could have just gone to a thrift store, you know. That's where I've been getting my other clothes.”

“I know. And they're...adequate for the audience. But for on stage you need something... special.” Sherlock grinned. “You're hungry. We'll get lunch and then I need to get a few things from...my brother's flat.”

“Will he be there?” John found himself a bit apprehensive at meeting Sherlock's older brother.

“Most likely,” Sherlock said with a sniff. “Come on, John.”

He followed Sherlock to a small café where John ordered crepes, and Sherlock ordered a coffee. John finished his crepes and then Sherlock dragged him to where he used to live. “Is he here?”

“No need to be frightened of him,” Sherlock said casually, though he stood still, staring, face blank, at the building façade.

“I'm not frightened.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then strolled up to the door and unlocked it before gesturing John inside and towards the open door on the second floor.

“Sherlock! I thought I told you to leave the key.”

“I did leave the key,” Sherlock replied to the voice that called out.

“Of course you did. How many other keys  _didn't_ you leave?”

John frowned, following Sherlock through the doorway.

“Oh?” A well-dressed man raised an eyebrow at their appearance. “Who's this then, Sherlock?”

“I'm John. A friend.”

Mycroft's noise might have been mistaken for a snort of disbelief on another person. He opened his mouth, but Sherlock over-rode him. “He's none of your business. I'm only here for a few things.”

“You his new flat-share then?” Mycroft asked John. “Amongst other things.”

“Temporary,” Sherlock snapped.

“Of course,” Mycroft drawled, still looking at John. “Be careful to not let him outstay his welcome. He'll overtake your bedroom.”

“Mycroft!”

“Do forgive me. Allow me to introduce myself, since my brother will not do the honours. Mycroft Holmes.”

“John Watson,” he replied, accepting Sherlock's brother's offered hand.

“A pleasure, I'm sure.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and vanished out of the room.

John avoided Mycroft's gaze, instead looking around the mostly-tidy flat.

“I'm in the process of cleaning up after Sherlock. Again.”

John didn't say anything.

“Please do feel free to kick him out after another day. It wouldn't be a surprise,” Mycroft continued oily.

“Sorry, is this your business?” John blurted. He looked around a bit before finally meeting Mycroft's eyes. He looked a little surprised.

“No. I beg your pardon. Well then. Carry on.”

Sherlock reappeared and glowered at his brother. “We're finished here, John. Come on.”

“A pleasure to meet you, John,” Mycroft said with a small wave.

“Um. Yeah.” John followed Sherlock out, walking quickly to keep up. “So... What did you pick up?”

“There were a few things that I needed.”

“Yeah, I got that. Like what?”

Sherlock grinned at him. “Cosmetics.”

John laughed. “Your brother is kind of a prick.”

Sherlock burst out laughing. “Yes. Yes, he is. Come on, John. Back to yours. We're going to play with colours.”

 

Hours of make-up and a very red face later, John and Sherlock ended the evening with a wild make-out session that turned quickly into a fiery bout of sex. They ordered take-away and reclined in bed until John fell asleep.

He woke the next day to Sherlock gone from the bed, and the smell of something cooking in the kitchen. “Sherlock?” he slurred.

“Good morning, John.”

Stumbling towards the kitchen, he found Sherlock at the table with a mug of coffee, a plate of eggs in front of him. Harry stared at him from across the table, nursing her own mug of something mostly-coffee.

“Morning, Johnny,” Harry muttered over the rim.

“Sherlock... Did you... did you cook?”

“Yes, John. I made breakfast.” He sipped his coffee. “Sit. Have some.”

John blinked, sat.

“Show tonight,” Sherlock said. “We extend the invitation to you, Harry.”

“We?” Harry jerked. “Wait wait. What's this? What do you mean, 'we?'”

“Oh,” Sherlock said casually. “John's joining me on stage.”

John leaned away, Harry's shriek nearly deafening. “Ow.”

“ _John_ ! What the  _fuck_ !”

Sherlock tittered, prompting John's full-out laugh.

“Oh, Johnny. You're nutters.”

John grinned. “It's gonna be awesome.”

“Tear-it-up-Johnny,” Sherlock said, smirking over his mug.

Harry jerked up from her seat and scrambled for her mobile, dialling numbers frantically. “Trice? Trice, you've  _got_ to come to this show tonight!”

Sherlock gave John a sultry look, and beckoned him towards the bedroom. “When you're finished, we'll get you all made-up.”

John grinned.

Sherlock made him run through vocal warm-ups, callisthenics. By mid-afternoon, he was made to shower and get dressed. Street clothes. They'd change and finish getting ready at the bar. Sherlock didn't want dinner, but John insisted on eating something.

“Light, John. Puking on stage is never attractive.” Sherlock was nearly skipping down the pavement towards the bar.

“Hey... Have you...told the others that I'd be joining you guys?”

“What? Of course.”

“Oh God. Sherlock... You  _didn't_ !”

Sherlock waved a hand. “It's not a big deal.”

John groaned as they entered in the back entrance into the fitting rooms. “Great. Well. I'll let you do that. While I go to the loo.” John escaped and hoped, by the time he'd returned, all of the drama would be finished. Lingering by the door until the shouting was finished, John poked his head in. “Um. Hello.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “You're fine, John. We just wish  _Sherlock_ would have given us more warning...”

“Come on, John. Get dressed.” Sherlock rolled his eyes when he edged over to a corner and quickly changed into the clothes Sherlock had bought him.

Sherlock rose and tied a glittery scarf round his neck before steering him into a chair. “Make-up, Tear-it-up-Johnny.”

As Sherlock put on John's face, he slowly became more nervous until Sherlock stopped putting on his glitter and leaned forward to kiss him giddy.

“Disgusting, mate,” Sally said. “Get a room.”

“This is a room,” Sherlock said, licking his lips.

“Come on, Sherlock,” Greg said, tending to his own face.

Sherlock grinned and finished him off. Then stepped back, his eyes nearly glowing. “Gorgeous.”

John looked at himself in the mirror and drew in air. “Wow.” The jeans were tight across his hips, showing off his arse nicely—thought night as nice as Sherlock's leather with laces up the sides, showing patches of skin. The lycra top accented John's biceps, on which Sherlock had painted jagged stripes in navy. His lips matched in colour, feathers pinned into his hair. He looked rather wild himself. Glitter accented his cheeks and brow bones. The eyeliner feathered out, accenting both upper and lower lids. “Wow.”

Next to him, Sherlock stood proudly, eyelids the colour of peacock feathers, actual feathers attached to his eyelashes, lips a deep read that reminded John a little bit of Snow White, seeing as they stood out against Sherlock's pale skin. He shuddered.

“Are we ready, prima-donnas?” Sally asked.

“I'm so ready,” John breathed.

Sherlock smirked at him. “Excellent. Let's bring down the house.”


	6. ...Make You Mine.

 They got onto the darkened stage, and into position before the lights went up. Sherlock made John stay out of sight until he could be properly introduced. His nerves hummed with excitement.

The band did one song, Sherlock whirling and seducing the audience.

 

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfvvPwP4brQ>

 

“And now, my dear ladies and gentlemen,” Sherlock crooned into the mic. “I would like to introduce to you, for the first time ever, a very special guest. Now,” he said with a pout aimed in John's direction. “He might be a bit shy, so I would like you all to welcome him most warmly: Tear-it-up-Johnny!”

John focused on Sherlock's outstretched hand, taking his place next to him and looking out into the faceless masses. It was different on stage. The nerves, however, in the face of Sherlock's smirk, were gone. The crowd shouted, far more enthusiastically than John deserved, but he had a feeling that Harry and her mates had to do with some of that. Sherlock removed his mic from the stand and counted off the beat. He caught John's eyes and they started singing in sync.

 

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGO9q8CkqbM>

 

Sherlock's hips flicked back and forth with the beat a few measures before he started dancing provocatively around John. He was still, at first, watching Sherlock, waiting. A glance at the audience told him they were rapt, and when Sherlock leaned in, John leaned in. The audience screamed. John smirked and pushed into his space deliberately before grabbing his mic from the stand and dancing away. Sherlock followed. John leaned in to Greg's space, eyes locked on Sherlock, before moving away and circling with Sherlock.

The audience liked it when they got close, flirting with distance. So John toyed with Sherlock, moving closer and away.

When the song was done, the crowd roared. Sherlock grabbed his hand and raised it into the air. The crowd _screamed_. 

John gave them a salute. And then played the tambourine for the rest of the show.

When the set-list was finished, Sherlock smirked at John and then crooned into the mic, “And since you have all been so kind to Tear-it-Up-Johnny, myself, and the rest of the band, here's one last treat to send you on your way into the night.” John handed him his violin that he'd grabbed off-stage.

 

<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0OWQXQgHgq8>

 

The applause was explosive as Sherlock winked and the lights went dark. 

As soon as they were in the back room, Sherlock pushed John up against the wall, plastering himself to every inch of John, growling into his neck.

John moaned.

“Oh God, you two...” Sally groaned. “As if on-stage wasn't enough.”

“John,” Sherlock purred, voice thick and husky.

“Fffuck...” John whimpered.

Greg groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes. “Jesus, you two. Leaving. Greg out. Later all. Boys, try to clean up after yourselves.”

Allen and Sotia rolled their eyes, walking out together, hip-to-hip. Sally quickly gathered her things, slung on a hoodie, and jetted through the back door. 

Sherlock's pale eyes pinned him in place. “You should have gotten me off beforehand.”

“Huh?”

He smirked. “Am I making you uncomfortable, John?”

“Only in that my prick is trying to rise and in the stupid jeans it's quite  _un_ comfortably stuck,” he panted, shifting.

Sherlock made a face of mock sympathy. “Quite right. Shall I help you out with that?”

He could only moan. Sherlock slid down his body, fingers flicking open the button on his jeans and tugging them down slowly. “Sherlooock...” John whined, digging his hands into dark hair.

“Yes, John,” Sherlock murmured against John's lower belly, fingers dipping below the hem of his pants. 

“Come on, luv, come on.” He squeezed his eyes shut, squirming against the wall a little.

“Oh John,” he breathed, hot air against his shorthairs as Sherlock slowly tugged his jeans lower, pants following. Kissing his prick, John groaned when he saw the lipstick mark Sherlock left behind. “Stay standing, John,” his lover purred. “And I'll reward you.”

Focusing on keeping his breathing even, his fingers spasmed in Sherlock's hair, pulling some of the feathers loose. Sherlock lips closed around him loosely, leaving traces of lipstick behind up and down his prick. Hands curled around his naked thighs, pressing him back, solid, against the wall. John moaned shamelessly. 

“Like that?” Sherlock asked breathlessly, his tongue and lips flicking over the head of John's prick with the words. 

“God yes!” His hips jutted forwards slightly towards the warmth and pressure.

Sherlock just chuckled and then swallowed him down. 

“Oh _Jesus_ fuck,” John breathed, hands tightening in Sherlock's hairspray-stiff hair. He repeated the phrase, with a little variation, as Sherlock began sucking in earnest.

Sherlock hummed around him, fingers edging around to the back of his thighs, kneading, tensing and releasing gently. 

“Holy ever-loving...” John panted. “ _Sherlock_ ...”

Those violin-calloused fingers crept up the insides of his thighs now, brushing, gently,  _fucksogently_ , against the skin just behind his bollocks.

John clapped one hand over his mouth to suppress the whine that came through anyway. He moaned with a full-body shudder when Sherlock did it again. “Come on, Sherlock. Come on. Don't tease...!” Chancing a glance down at his lover, John had to lean more heavily against the wall, Sherlock's cheekbones in high relief from the dodgy lighting, lips so so red around his cock. His cock stained obscenely with lip paint. He whined again. The hand still buried in Sherlock's hair twitched, probably pulling out hairs. Then Sherlock's fingers brushed over sensitive flesh again and his vision blurred out. “Again!” he rasped, keening with the next stroke—“I—oh God! Th-there!” With an embarrassing ah-ing noise, John came, Sherlock sucking him through it gently until John pulled him off with a weak tug at his hair. “I...I can't...” He shuddered at the cool of the air, gooseflesh raising up along his arms.

Sherlock smirked, lips slick and obscene. 

“Fuck,” John muttered weakly.

“Can I?”

He snorted, looking down at Sherlock. “Really?”

“Tit for tat, and all of that.” He tilted his head. “You're sufficiently rewarded for your excellent debut. I should think it's my turn to cash in.”

Laughing, John pressed the heel of his palm to his temple. “You're ridiculous.” Adding quickly to assuage Sherlock's faintly hurt expression, “No, no. I just... I won't be much use...”

“I think I'd almost like it better that way,” he purred, rising to his feet. “Can I?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

Sherlock grinned, then grabbed his shoulder and pushed him round to face the wall.

“Have you got—”

“Condom is in your wallet, I've already got it, and lube's in my violin case. I already grabbed it.”

There was the ripping of a packet. The condom next. John breathed slowly through his nose, still warm and dozy from his dopamine high. He jerked slightly when lubed fingers traced along the crack of his arse. Sherlock slid one finger in, working in and out until John's breathing was up again and he was pushing back. Two fingers went harder, his prick making a slow effort at becoming interested again. By the time Sherlock was pushing three in, John's head hit the wall and he was panting. 

“John, John, John,” Sherlock murmured against his shoulder blade. 

“Come on then,” he grunted, pushing back and squirming. “Come on.”

Sherlock hissed and slowly withdrew his fingers.

“Yeah, come on,” John repeated, arching his back as Sherlock's fingers gripped his hips. “I want it.”

Sliding into his slowly, rocking gently on every push forward, Sherlock was letting out a small whine each time. “God, John. You're...”

Gritting his teeth at the heated pressure of it all, John squeezed his eyes shut, dropping one hand down to press at the base of his prick.

“I'm not going to last long,” his lover warned. 

“Fine, it's fine. Come on, Sherlock.  _Move_ .”

“Yessss...”

And then everything was the rock of Sherlock's hips against his, John's prick sliding in and out of a slicked palm. Sherlock panting against his shoulder. Sherlock  _biting_ his shoulder.

John arched back hard, crying out.

Sherlock pumped into him twice, three times, four, and then—let out a long, low groan the duration of his orgasm. 

“Yeah, good, good. Come on. Finish me, Sherlock,” John squirmed back on Sherlock who whined with the sensation. Sherlock's hand joined John's until John shuddered through his second orgasm. Shuddered again when Sherlock pulled out of him. John sagged down to his knees. “Oh God. Wow. That was...” he breathed. 

Sherlock sagged down the wall next to John with a gusty sigh. 

John looked at him and giggled. Sherlock looked back and giggled. Then they were both giggling, sweaty, semen-covered, half-naked on the floor. 

“I think,” John said, “now would be a good time to get ourselves cleaned up and presentable...”

“I think you've sufficiently 'torn it up,'” Sherlock said, gasping before succumbing to another fit of giggles. 

“Oh no. Was all you mate...” John gasped, sagging against Sherlock. When they finished laughing, Sherlock grabbed a discarded shirt and wiped them both clean. “Home?”

Sherlock agreed and they straightened themselves, skipping home. To walk in on Harry with the flavour of the evening. 

“Oh  _God_ .” 

Harry laughed while the girl scrambled to pull her shirt over her tits. “Consider it payback, Johnny.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and strolled past them into her bedroom. John followed quickly, ignoring the red-faced girl and Harry's cackling.

“There are certainly advantages of owning one's own flat,” Sherlock said with a curled lip.

“Are you saying we should get our own place?” John said, stripping his shirt off. When Sherlock didn't answer, John turned around to see Sherlock frowning in thought. “Wait, are you seriously considering it?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I don't see why not. Your sister's fling is more serious than she realises. And with your income and mine, we can certainly afford a small flat.”

“You think so?”

“Certainly,” he said, stripping his clothes off as well. 

“If we share the shower, neither of us will get clean,” John said with a grin. He finished stripping and rounded the corner to the shower. 

By the time John returned, Sherlock was sprawled out on John's bed, dozing.

“So we should start looking at real-estate?” he asked, towelling his hair. 

“No need to search far,” Sherlock mumbled, eyelids fluttering. “Your sister's newest friend is a real estate agent.”

Shaking his head, John chuckled. “Go shower, Sherlock. Then sleep.”

“Too tired.”

“You'll regret it in the morning.”

Sherlock rolled off the bed and stumbled to the shower. By the time he returned, John was warm beneath the bedsheets. As Sherlock slipped in behind him, shower warm, he smiled. “It'll be nice...” he murmured.

“Sharing a flat? Yes. I think I agree,” Sherlock rumbled, curling his arms around John's. 

He felt Sherlock's smile against his shoulder. “It'll be brilliant.”

“We'll start searching tomorrow,” Sherlock mumbled.

John murmured in agreement and drifted off to sleep, snug in the arms of his lover. 


End file.
